Not A Girl
by The Cake Genius
Summary: Indigo keeps telling him that he isn't a girl, but honestly, Tom just doesn't care anymore. More Tom/Indigo.


**Disclaimer: I do not own the Casson family. :(**

**A/N: I'll save you the rant on how little to nobody writes this pairing, but instead inform you that there are a couple Tom/Indigo fics on AO3 that I found rather delightful. So if your slashy little hearts are as empty and sad as mine is due to lack of this wonderful pairing, I highly recommend that you look there.**

**Or you could just, you know, write some yourself... -.-  
**

* * *

The first time Indigo said it, they were on the school roof, staring at the stars. Tom had only told him that he tended not to care for girls; they weren't exactly attractive, but one might make for a good best friend.

Indigo laughed. "I'm not a girl, Tom."

"I know."

The second time, they'd been half past thirteen, in the kitchen with the rest of the Cassons, and Saffron had commented that Tom Levin could just be the next great American action hero, running to the top of dangerous places and blowing things up.

"Indy could be my femme fatale!" Tom exclaimed, bursting into a shout of laughter.

Indigo covered his face with his hands. "I'm not a _girl_, Tom!" he protested, voice muffled by his palms.

Tom grinned and ruffled his hair. "Aw, you love me, really."

The third time was when they were just fourteen, and there was a dance coming up at Indy's school for the end of the year. Indigo, of course, had no date, and planned to sit on the wall, far from any trouble.

"You could take me," Tom suggested.

Indigo looked out the window. "I'm not a girl, Tom."

"I only meant, you know... as friends..."

"As friends, yeah, I know..."

"Where are you going?"

"Bathroom..."

Tom sat alone, suddenly feeling very confused.

The fourth time, they were almost fifteen, riding a train to get to London together. An older boy was sitting on the other side of Indigo, and soon got bored with only sitting.

"Hey faggot," he said, punching his arm. "How's your boyfriend there?"

Indigo stared straight ahead, not fighting back, not saying anything.

But Tom stood up abruptly, clenching his fists. "Fuck. Off."

The other guy did, being smaller and having shakier fingers than Tom, and Indigo watched him for the rest of the ride.

"I'm not a girl, Tom," he'd said later. "I'm not Rose, at the least. I don't need you to protect me."

Tom snorted. "Of course you don't."

The fifth time, they were fifteen, and Indy was the last to say goodbye at the airport. Tom threw his arms around his friend, as he always did, and then, without thinking, placed his lips on Indigo's.

The kiss was chaste, but long and sweet. Tom surprised himself by closing his eyes, making everything around them disappear. For one moment, he stood there, kissing him- _kissing Indy, how wonderful-_ and Indigo neither responded nor pushed him away. He just... let it happen.

When Tom broke the kiss, he stood back, blinking, the world coming back into focus far too quickly, and much too loud.

Indigo kept his eyes completely closed. _He has such dark eyelashes_, Tom thought. _Why didn't I notice them before?_

"I'm not a girl, Tom," he said quietly, a whisper as quiet as the few pale freckles dusting his cheeks.

Tom said nothing.

"Don't do that again. Please, I can't... Just stop."

That summer, Tom spent his time in his room, playing the same song over and over.

They were sixteen the next time it happened. They'd both been pretending that everything was normal, but extremely awkward until, at midnight in Indy's room (which they had been sharing), and both knew that the other was still awake, Tom just climbed onto Indy's bed, making the springs creak. They ended up sitting cross-legged on the mattress, talking about everything that came to mind, and at once nothing at all.

They reached a moment of silence, and Tom looked. He looked at how Indy's pajama top was worn, soft, and too loose on his skinny frame, and how his eyes sparkled like silver stars where the moonlight hit them.

And he kissed him, because he wanted to, and because he was tired of playing the same song over and over.

Indigo was unresponsive at first, but then slowly, hesitantly began moving his lips to match the other boy's.

Tom's brain exploded.

He held Indigo's slim jaw and gently coaxed his mouth open. He was overwhelmed by soft skin, the long, inky hair, and the taste of Indigo in his mouth: something like honey and chamomile tea, and salty vanilla and dusky blue.

Without meaning to, Tom ended up on top of him, pushing him into the bed as they kissed. He wanted, _wanted_ the boy beneath him, and without thinking, slipped his hand under the soft shirt, touching, for a precious instance, the landscape of white cream-skin, stretched over valleys of ribs and hipbones- so smooth, so unbearably _lovely..._

It was a mistake.

Indigo suddenly pushed him away, pressing into his headboard with his knees to his chest.

Tom tried to brush the hair from his eyes. "Indy...?"

"I'm not a girl, Tom," he whispered. "There's nothing for you there."

"Indy, what-"

"You don't want me, you couldn't possibly-"

"_Indigo._"

The boy took a shuddering breath. "Tom... I can't do this. Please just leave me alone."

The American pulled back as if he'd been slapped.

He tried his best to do as Indy said, talking to Rose and David instead, and he didn't throw his arms around Indigo when he left.

After that, he rarely played. His fingers stumbled over the guitar strings, and the music no longer felt right.

So two weeks later, he called the Cassons, and asked to speak to Indigo.

"... Tom?" he heard, warily, over the line.

"Indigo, listen to me, and don't hang up. Don't you dare fucking hang up on me, Indigo Casson, or you'll be a coward, and I'm already scared out of my mind."

"..."

Tom took a deep, shaky breath. "Look, I don't know what went wrong, okay? But I don't just... why is this so hard to _say_...? I don't just want to be your friend anymore. I know I... I like you a lot. Maybe for longer than I want to admit."

"You can't... I'm not-"

"I _know_, damn it!" Tom exploded. "I don't _care_! You're _Indigo_, and you smell like honey and your clavicles stick out too much, and your fingers are just the right size, and you just..." He swallowed hard and swiped vigorously at his eyes. "... feel right..."

Indigo finally said, "why me? How could _you _possibly like _me?_ Tom Levin, next great American action hero."

Tom forced a laugh through tears that threatened to push out of his eyes. "How could I not? You're amazing, Indy, God, you're amazing."

"You really don't care, then. You really... you think I'm amazing?"

"Of course. That's what people tend to think when they love someone, isn't it?"

"But you're Tom. You're too... brave, and perfect, and your mind is too big for your body. You're the sky, you're huge, so much that I can barely breathe, and I'm just... me."

Tom's breath caught in his throat. "Are you saying... that you've liked me... and you thought that I wouldn't like you back? That's why you were acting so scared all the time?"

Tom knew that Indigo was nodding from the almost-silent pause before the "Yes. Forever, yes."

Tom grinned. Grinned like an idiot and shook his head. "You're crazy."

A watery laugh came through the phone. "I guess I am, aren't I?"

"Not as crazy as me!" Tom laughed loudly, his grin still growing infinitely wider.

"Are we, you know... together?" Indigo asked.

"Please, are we?"

"I'd like that. I think I'd like that a lot."

"Excellent! Indy, you are positively excellent!"

That summer, Tom wrote his own songs, and he ran up and threw his arms around Indigo as soon as he saw him at the airport platform.


End file.
